Letters Never Sent, 2.

I’m starting a new sporadic segment that will be a series of letters that I never plan to send. Writing is therapy for me. Names will be either omitted or changed for the sake of legal issues that could potentially arise. These will be personal, they will be honest, and they will be heartfelt. My life is an open book.

Letter 2

Dear Shitface,

Jesus, where do I even begin? From your very moment of birth were you as horrid as you are now? If not, how the fuck does someone end up as heartless as you did?

From the first time I saw your disgusting lard ass climb out of your P.O.S. car my gut sank and I knew this would be bad; very bad. It wasn’t just the ponytail, which is gross enough on its own for a fat man with thinning hair. It wasn’t the dirty clothes you were wearing (even though it was a date with my mother). No, something in my inner depths saw you and screamed “WARNING! BAD MAN!” Your very scent made my skin crawl with discomfort.

As a child, I had absolutely no say in my life events, such as you getting your foul tentacles deep in to my mother’s mind. From the beginning, you found a way to manipulate her in to thinking you mattered. You convinced her you were good and she listened, despite my constant warnings and worries I expressed to her about you. Before I knew it, you and your poor abused daughter were living under my roof.

Then the shitstorm kicked up.

You absolutely horrible, awful being.

Not only did you scream at me in public to the point of strangers intervening, you did even worse and made my mother cry night after night after night after night. She was (and is) the most important person in my life and you tried to extinguish the fire inside of her. It was not easy dealing with your angry outbursts, your attempts to get me to like you (which were disgusting), or your nasty perverted persona that makes me wonder if I have repressed memories deep in my subconscious because of you. Watching my previously clean and positive-feeling house deteriorate in to filth and sad energy broke my heart. Worse still was watching my mom go from a beautiful young woman to looking like she was 50 at age 30. You broke her down so hard that she never wore anything but sweats, stopped showering regularly, and looked sad almost all of the time. You broke her. Eventually, physically broke her as well.* Which is why she left your cancer-ridden ass in the dirt with nothing.

You must be a psychopath to be so heartless and cruel. You destroy everything you touch. You murdered your own daughter’s pets to show her how angry you were at her; something that should eat away at you every minute of your life.

The doctors said you didn’t have much time left. Yet here we are, 15 years later, and you still pop up from time to time. You didn’t recognize me at my first job and you treated me like shit even then. It took 100% of my energy not to punch you in the fucking throat that day. Weeks later I saw you walking down the street and heavily considered jail time for the satisfaction of destroying you with my car. Unlike you, I have a respect for life even if I loathe you with every ounce of my being.

Do the world a favor and die already.

 

*Mom is fine now; doesn’t think about him as often as I do. She is back to being beautiful and looking 30 now that she’s in her mid-40s. She even gets carded sometimes and is often thought of as my big sister by strangers (even our doctor once).

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